


Tenebris

by russianwinter013



Series: The Darkness in Time [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Horror, Cannibalism, Cannibalistic Thoughts, Dark Past, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, M/M, Multi, Psychological Torture, Self-Esteem Issues, Supernatural Elements, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-05-26 00:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6216646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/russianwinter013/pseuds/russianwinter013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The war has been over for centuries, and yet I still feel...strange. Restless, in a way. Like I need to draw my sword and tear out a spark just to sate my lust for vengeance. But there is no one left to take out. I am all alone in this desolate world. The Lord of Death follows me. The silence and the darkness are nothing but a grim reminder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something I cooked up on the bus to school. It's based on an original story of mine called Haunted by Time, but this version is a bit more graphic than that. Enjoy.
> 
> Oh, and heed the tags. This is one of my darkest works.

  
The world stood, bathed in its perpetual grief and pain. Horrific screams, ones that were not as loud but still held the agony only a being tortured endlessly would have, echoed throughout the deepest and darkest corners of the universe standing silently around it. Fire and ash rose from the battered remnants of the atmosphere, and toxins were ever present.

It had been months since the fighting had started. Months that seemed so much longer. The endless age of my race made time move even slower.

The sky was dark, the sun a dying ember barely illuminating the diseased world beneath it.

I stood scowling deeply, the hot and toxic air burning the edges of my sleek and nearly weightless armor. The ash coated air swirled around me; the thick acrid taste of smoke covered my glossa in a rough and coarse embrace. The fire roared around me, a beast at bay merely waiting for the chance to pounce and tear into my metal flesh like the insignificant insect it believed I was.

It was almost amusing how the beast thought it could tame me.

The decaying, bloodstained bodies were strewn across the field, broken and bruised, frayed and crumbling like decade-old tombstones eroded by harsh weather and the relentless hand of Time. Decomposing flesh hung in tattered strips from the shattered remains of bones; the ghostly and jagged remains of each individual crumbling bone peered out from beneath the flimsy veil the slimy remnants of torn muscle provided. The stench that emanated from the carcasses was oh so horrible; the ever-present aroma of burning and charred flesh and boiling blood whisked through the moaning wind.

The ground was stained with an endless cloak of overwhelming terror. The slightest glance towards the decimated field would render the mind immobile from the fiery beast of fear that would dig its claws deep into the metaphorical flesh of the mind of its host. There would be no way out should the signs of infection show. The ailing being would have no remnant of hope.

My thoughts were drifting. My memories were hazy; I remember when they had been better, easier to recall, once a part of a field of high-quality perception able to sense the slightest anomaly in my systems. My mind is fragmented now; my memories are corrupted, stained and muddied, obstructed by the clouds of misery and pain and death and sadistic desire.

My processor seemed locked on the fact that this was a horrifically talented piece of art. Of intricately detailed penmanship and swirls and strokes that elicited the most beautiful and mind-numbing of results.

_Sleep well, my little child_

_The monsters will not find you_

_Sleep well, my little child_

_Or the monsters will come_

The laugh that escaped me was one of pure insanity. Oh yes, I remember when I had sanity. That seemed like it was such a long time ago that I can barely recall it. Ah, no...must not let my thoughts stray from the rickety old train track.

Wait...the memory I had been trying to catch but had evaded me: this gory battlefield had once been a playground for little sparklings and younglings. Yes, I remember...complete with the sticky plastic of the bobbing toy turbofoxes and Predacons skimming through the soft and shaved metal, accompanied by the screaming little ones as their older relatives pushed them high into the sky to make them believe they were on top of the world—this decimated field had been that. It was hard to imagine that this bloody haunted battlefield had been a place where innocent—no, they were not innocent; no one was innocent—children had played.

_They will come, my dear_

_Skin your very form_

_Salt and season your hide_

_And boil it in a batch of stew_

The gore-crusted wind continued to swirl around me. How could I have grown so accustomed to the thick scent of scalding blood and flesh? I was so used to it that I waited for it every day; as if it were a signal I waited for that moment where I could sample the delicious taste brewing in the poisoned air. But now, with the gore and violence that surrounded any being that had been powerful or lucky enough to survive the war that had ravaged the entirety of the monster that had been known as Cybertron...what else was there to wait for? Everything else was dead and dying. They were all delicious corpses.

_They will make rope of your entrails_

_Tie up the naughty little ones_

_Use your talons for little utensils_

_To scoop out naughty optics_

Rodimus stood beside me, his engine rumbling in thinly veiled distress and pain. This had been the result of a riot, one that had been going on for a few orns. The corpses were all different—some were Enforcers that had been attempting to keep the peace, some were fanatics that believed any form of rule was corrupted and wrong, and others were simply civilians that had been caught in the crossfire.

_I could not help but wonder why this scene was so familiar to the gruesome afterimages of the War. The War that was long gone now; Megatron was no more, Optimus was no more...they were all gone._

I could see and smell and taste them all, all of them stretched out before me—see their flailing limbs as they were shot down, smell the acrid stench of boiled Energon and armor and fluids, and taste the scalding lifeblood as it splashed around me, coating my pure white armor in a horrific but strangely pleasing new paintjob—

_Sleep now, my little child_

_Blackbirds will soar and swallow_

_And scratch and claw your scarred l_ _ittle flesh_

_To keep their children warm_

_So sleep now, my little angel_

_And keep your skin tight and warm_

I gasped and wrapped a servo around my torso, my talons digging into the scarred metal. No. That was not what I was here for. I was here to help—here to offer assistance, not take it away in the blink of an optic—

"Drift? Are you okay?"

My mate's voice washed over me, a deep and pleasant rumble that made my wings shiver. He was worried, and I was worrying him. I could not have that—no, I _would not_ have that.

I forced my respiratory systems back to optimal function and made myself nod. "I am fine, Roddy."

The brightly colored mech tilted his helm, vibrant blue optics bright. "Are you sure? You seem...off." His wonderfully expressive gaze widened as his vents hissed out scalding air. He had been a racer frame, and we always ran extremely hot. His heat was only increased by his all-over-the-map emotions, and it was doing nothing for the steadily increasing pounding in the back of my processor.

I hid a wince and nodded, fluttering my wings as I ran my talons over his sleek armor. "Please, Roddy. Do not worry about me. You need your focus on this meeting."

The former Prime hesitated before nodding. "If you say so." He fanned his own wings wide, bouncing on his pedes. "Come on! I heard that General Strika is going to be at the conference! I wanna meet her; I heard she's really cool!"

"One of the most powerful mechs on the planet, and yet you somehow still act like a child." My voice was as cold and detached as it normally was, but I could not suppress a grin as I transformed and followed my mate.

All the while, the song was still playing—over and over—in my mind.

_Sleep now, my little angel_

_Or the monsters will come_

_Tear your soul to shreds and_

_Beat in your little head_

_Unless you sleep right now_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight non-con in this chapter.

The world was screaming—and it was oh so satisfying.

I think my audio receptors have been malfunctioning for quite some time. Screaming did not make any sense in the place I was in. But nevertheless, I took a deep and dark pleasure in the terrified bellows and cries of the prey whimpering beneath my pedes.

I moaned softly, my core temperature beginning to rise as I shifted restlessly. My mind was beginning to stray again. I was no good cooped up in some fancy hotel room for hours on end, day after day.

I could vaguely make out the sound of the voice of one of my teammates. But I could not listen. I was too...too—

A pained hiss escaped my vocalizer as I began to tremble. I could not be in place with so many beings, so many fresh and delicious beings...

The chatter around me dulled to a murmur, and I could feel all of their optics boring into my cranial unit.

"Drift?" A warm servo was placed against mine, and a thumb traced patterns almost absently over the back of my hand. "Are you okay?"

The pain was beginning to overwhelm me. I did not have much longer.

Forcing myself to shake my helm even as I struggled to vent properly, I grimaced and pushed my chair back, clutching my helm in my hands as I wavered on my pedes. Rodimus steadied me and murmured apologies to the rest of them as he led me out of the conference hall.

* * *

Rodimus frowned as Drift swayed again, a violent and paint burning heat radiating off of his chassis. The former Prime slowed his pace, allowing the assassin to regain his bearings.

A deep growl left the white mech as a violent tremor shook his body, and Rodimus could feel the overwhelming power of his mate's electromagnetic field pulsing wildly.

The Prime stiffened, optics widening as he felt the tremors increase in strength. With a groan, he moved the slimmer mech into a more comfortable position against his side, ignoring the amazed stares as he made his way down the hall. He understood what they were thinking. Drift—formerly known as the horrific mercenary Deadlock, one of the most skilled swordsmechs to walk the face of Cybertron—was apparently ill and unable to stand on his own. All in all, it was a pretty shocking sight.

The secondary Prime paused in his thoughts to enter the open command into the key panel of their suite.

Drift growled suddenly, his wings flaring out wide and batting against his partner's shoulder panel. The assassin tensed, electromagnetic field spreading and rippling wildly.

"Hey, hey, hey." Rodimus tightening his grip on the slimmer mech, forcing him to stand fully. "Quit it and let me help you."

The mech formerly known as Deadlock snarled viciously, engines roaring and making the action even darker.

Rodimus hissed, optics flashing a few shades brighter as he cringed. Forcing the larger mech into the room, he activated the lock on the door and the lights on the ceiling. Moving without remorse or warning, the Prime had the white mech pinned to their shared berth, dentia bared in a snarl.

Drift writhed beneath him, golden optics dangerously bright as he snapped his dentia together. He shook his helm back and forth like a rabid cyber-animal, wings scraping against the metal of the berth beneath him.

"Drift, calm down and talk to me." Rodimus increased the strength in his grip as the triple changer tried to move again, his engine growling heatedly. "What is going on with you? You've been acting strange since the riot those few weeks ago."

The white mech shuddered violently, armor flared from his chassis as he bared lengthening dentia. When he spoke, it was in a voice that was hoarse and cracked, almost as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and it was beginning to crush him. "Rodimus—get off—"

"Not until you tell me what's wrong!" The brightly colored mech shook his helm, optics wide and brewing with a storm of multiple and battling emotions. "Talk to me!"

Drift moaned, an intense heat radiating off of his chassis as he shuddered again. His optics flashed a violent crimson for the slightest moment, an action that caused his mate to hesitate ever so slightly.

Rodimus recognized that look—that hungry, manic glare. He had seen it those few weeks ago, when Drift had nearly collapsed on the spot while facing the decimated and makeshift battlefield. But the most iconic memory he had of it was when he had first encountered Deadlock during the threat of war all of those millions of centuries ago.

Deadlock had been goaded into a fight while at a bar, where someone had mentioned his previous name and the horrors of what he had done. Enraged, the assassin had attacked the instigator, and had made sure to beat him within an inch of his life. Rodimus had been passing by and had heard the commotion, and that was when he had seen the lethal beauty and dark grace that was Deadlock.

Nothing much had changed since then. Deadlock had defected and became known as Drift. That had made little to not difference in what he was known for. Drift radiated a strange sense of tranquility and darkness, and anyone arrogant or idiotic enough to somehow goad him into a fight would have nightmares for weeks because they had a glimpse of his true power.

 _"Rodimus_ _—"_ Drift was snarling at him, optics flickering back and forth between a violent crimson and a molten gold. "I can't—get off before I—"

"Enough!" Prime pressed his considerable weight into the larger mech, cutting off his sentence. "Stop giving me excuses and tell me what's wrong!"

 _"I don't know!"_ The triple changer roared, optics wide and dangerously bright. "I can't control—get off, get off!" His chassis was shaking violently, almost enough to make the Prime have to hold on. Drift did not seem to notice and kept pleading with him. "Stop it, Rodimus! I don't want to—"

Drift jerked forwards suddenly with a violent lurch, his engines roaring as he moved close to the Prime. His extended dentia were exposed as he glared, chest heaving with heavy and labored ventilations.

Moving before the other mech cold react, the triple changer's sharpened dentia were buried deep within the wiring of his neck. Rodimus cried out—more in shock than in pain—as Drift sucked and lapped at the wound, almost viciously drinking up the Energon that trickled from the wound.

Drift moaned, grinding against his mate as he continued to nurse at the bleeding opening, the sweet and succulent fluid coating his glossa in a euphoric pleasure. He could feel the heat and pressure building up inside of him, throwing him closer to the edge already.

"Drift! Stop that!" Rodimus growled, optics dangerously bright as he forcefully attempted to push the larger mech away. "I don't want this!"

The assassin snarled viciously, armor flared aggressively as he sunk his dentia even deeper into his mate's neck. He seemed unaffected by the agonized cries of the mech below him, and the wetness seeping through the creases in his pelvic armor continued to goad him on.

Suddenly a bright and explosive pain appeared in his wings, and Drift reared back with an outraged roar.

Rodimus was staring at him with tears in his optics, his chest heaving his heavy and labored ventilations. His hands were raised, crushing his mate's wings and sending an excruciating pain throughout the larger mech.

The Prime's mouthplates moved, and he seemed to struggle to form words.

"Drift..."

The triple changer gasped, optics returning to their normal golden color as he took in the battered sight of the Prime. Deep claw marks covered his frame, and Energon still trickled from the wound on his neck.

A moan escaped the white mech as visible despair and agony crossed his face. His wings fanned the air in frenzied movements as his ventilations came faster and faster.

Rodimus saw the panicked look in his mate's optics and struggled to keep his voice calm. He needed Drift as relaxed as he could get him. "Drift, listen to me. It wasn't your fault." He dared to shift beneath the larger mech, the pain in his sensor network screaming at him to stop.

The larger mech whimpered, shaking his helm back and forth as he shuddered violently. His talons dug deep into the metal of their berth, creating an unpleasant screeching sound that had them both shying away from the noise.

Rodimus let out a deep vent, keeping his optics locked onto his lover. "Drift, calm down right now. You are going to be fine. Just calm down."

Drift panted heavily, heat pouring off of his frame in boiling waves. "Rodimus—the...th-the tranquilizer..."

The Prime moved hesitantly beneath the increasing weight of his mate. "You'll have to let me up so I can get it."

Drift whined, shifting uneasily as his electromagnetic field pulsed. His talons scraped dangerously close to the sides of the crimson mech below him, the weapons holding barely concealed warnings even as they sheared away bits and pieces of metal. "Can't. Not on my own." He shuddered, engines droning almost painfully. "I want to...to hurt you."

"Keep your optics on me," the Prime murmured, placing his servos on the larger mech's and ignoring the boiling heat. "Vent deeply and keep your optics on me."

Drift hissed, optics now a dark crimson. He shifted, wings twitching and engines declaring their power in a subsonic bass rumble. "Do it."

The crimson and orange mech twisted, forcing himself through the gap that had made itself available. Rodimus moved slowly as to not aggravate the larger mech, keeping his motions slow and deliberate—they were easily predictable in case Drift became confused and decide to attack. Drift's mind may have been there, but his other side was struggling to take control and was bent on achieving that goal.

Drift groaned, his chassis beginning to shudder again as the heat around him began to increase. "Rodimus..."

"Almost there, Drift. Just keep holding on." The Prime reached into his subspace, wincing as his wounds were aggravated. The vial and syringe were wrapped carefully in elastic sheets of metal to prevent damage, both to the product and to its carrier.

The medicine was a method Drift and Rodimus had agreed on in order to suppress Drift's homicidal needs that were no longer satisfied by simple and everyday life. Ratchet had developed it specifically for the triple changer and Prowl had calculated the probability of success in different situations.

The triple changer made a sound not far from a roar as he dug his talons into the berth, his vents hissing and grinding audibly. "Roddy, I can't—"

"I'm right here." The Prime had the syringe filled and ready, now having moved closer to his lover. Drift had his back arched and his wings flared in a darkly aggressive manner, his optics having darkened to a shade of golden-brown. When Rodimus placed a hand on the berth beside the assassin, Drift snarled and snapped his dentia at him, a low growl rumbling in his broad chest.

The Prime raised his servos, attempting to look as calm and as harmless as possible. "Easy, Drift. I'm not going to hurt you."

The triple changer roared softly, wings flared out wide. Rodimus could not help but notice that his mate had a similar appearance to a small Predacon when he crouched low to the berth like that.

Before he could inject the larger mech with the paralyzing solution, an incessant beeping sounded in the Prime's audio.

 _/Rodimus, this is Prowl. I am sensing a rather strange amount of energy from your room, and it is giving me a disturbing and unusual helm ache. What is going on?/_ The deep baritone voice of the former Autobot Lieutenant sounded in his helm, stained with an uncharacteristic exhaustion and irritation.

 _/Don't distract me right now./_ Rodimus hissed at the former Lieutenant, wings twitching slightly as he felt the triple changer's feral glare on him. _/Drift's slipping again./_

 _/I had believed that he was finished with that./_ Prowl's voice was ice cold and calculated as it usually was, and it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. _/Jazz and I are on our way. Keep him under control or your will regret it./_ He ended the communications link before the Prime had a chance to respond.

Drift caught his attention again when he snarled, bright crimson optics narrowed to slits. He turned his helm to fix his glare on the Prime, and a horrific grin slowly curled back his mouthplates to expose numerous rows of sharpened dentia.

 _Slag it._ Rodimus cursed beneath his ventilations and flicked his wings, drawing in his electromagnetic field as the triple changer continued to glare eerily at him.

"Drift, what are you doing?" The Prime kept his gaze on the pure white mech, keeping his optics and wings devoid of emotion. "Calm down and talk to me."

The white mech tilted his helm, wings twitching as he continued to stare at his mate. His dentia were bared in that terrifying imitation of a grin, and his engines rumbled in a vibrating subsonic bass.

A knock sounded on the suite door, and a heavily accented voice sounded through the large and thick door. "Rodimus, it's Jazz."

The Prime stiffened, watching the reaction of the larger mech as he activated his communications link. _/I'm in here with Drift. Don't come in yet. He's far from stable./_

 _/Wha'?/_ The former saboteur's voice was riddled with exhaustion and slight irritation. _/Slag it, mech, let meh in there 'fore he goes nuts or all Pit's gonna break loose./_

_/I can't. He won't let me get to the door, not without a fight./_

There was a moment of silence before the Polyhexian spoke again. _/Ya're hurt? Why didn't ya tell meh?/_ His voice was a dangerous and feral growl, trembling with vile anticipation and fury. _/Slag it, Prowl! Drift hurt Roddy!/_

 _/Did you believe that information was not relevant?/_ The tactician rumbled deeply, the faintest hint of irritation staining his smooth and detached voice. _/Your mate now has no qualms about harming you./_

 _/Yeah, well sorry for not thinking ahead like you!/_ Rodimus' attention was directed back to the white triple changer as he snarled, wings rising high and engines roaring. _/Slag it. I don't have time for this./_ He shut off the communications link—uncaring of the consequences that would show up later—and raised his servos. "Drift, it's me, Roddy. I'm not going to hurt you, but I need you to calm down for me."

Drift hissed, crimson optics narrowing. "Hurt? Can't hurt mech. Too calm. Too calm."

"But you still want to hurt, don't you?" Rodimus continued on cautiously, forcing his wings to remain neutral.

The triple changer laughed hungrily, his engines growling loudly. "Yes. Hurt others, but not the bright mech. Bright mech keeps _him_ entertained."

"I need him back, though," the Prime countered, remaining calm and steady as the triple changer growled darkly at him. "I don't mean to insult you, but society wouldn't take it kindly if you were allowed out in the open."

"Cowards," the beast laughed, wings fanning the air. "All cowards."

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response," Rodimus muttered with a broad flick of his wings. "But I'm not going to repeat myself. Give my mate back."

The pure white mech frowned, his crimson optics narrowed to dangerous slits as he glared at the former Prime standing before him. "Give him back? I never took him."

Rodimus clenched his servos into fists, his optics flashing brightly. "Don't play mind games with me. I want Drift back. I never wanted you."

An eerie silence filled the room suddenly, and the temperature dropped significantly.

"Never...wanted...?"

Deadlock launched himself off of the berth and slammed forcefully into the crimson mech, effectively pinning him to the ground.

 _"Never wanted?!"_ The assassin loomed over his restrained prey, venom dripping off of his exposed fangs and eating into brightly painted metal. _"Bright mech never wanted?!"_

Rodimus' optics widened, and he began to writhe beneath the larger mech. "Drift, calm down and get off of me!"

The triple-changer roared, sounding very much like a feral cyber-animal as he dug his talons deep into refined armor, hissing in deranged delight as Energon began to trickle out and coat his claws.

Moving without warning, Deadlock leaned close and sunk his fangs deep into the former Prime's neck. Rodimus screamed and arched his back, optics widening and his electromagnetic field pulsing in fury, fear, and agitation as the triple-changer's sheer strength began to crush the stabilizing servos in his arms and legs.

Suddenly, a flash of bright light and an explosion of electricity overwhelmed both of the mechs. Rodimus could dimly hear the triple-changer's roar of pain and fury, and then the weight on his chassis was relieved and he was rolling over on his side, venting harshly and bringing up a servo to cover the freely bleeding wounds on his neck.

"Ya alright, mech?"

Jazz appeared before him, his visor dimmed in something like anger and agitation. In one of his servos he held an Energon staff—the prongs were still crackling with electricity—and his other servo was on his hip. His talons were tapping in a restless rhythm on the metal plating of his thigh, and he glared down at the injured mech before him with a dim sense of superiority.

"Jazz, that is enough." Prowl moved out of the shadows, standing over the unconscious frame of Drift. His massive and heavy wings were flared wide above him, and his cold amber optics burned dangerously in the dim lighting of the room.

"We agreed not to harm either of them should the circumstances call for it," the tactician rumbled, bending down and picking up the limp white mech's frame with little effort.

The saboteur shook his helm, folding down his staff and running a servo over his faceplates in an expression of exasperation. "Ah never agreed to nothin', Prowler. Ah only wanted to get ya outta tha' office o' yours."

Prowl's mouthplates twitched into something like a frown, and he tilted his helm and flicked his wings. "Your logic continues to astound me."

"Glad ta know ya still can't figure meh out." Jazz looked away from his sparkmate and fixed his poisonous stare on Rodimus, who was still venting heavily and keeping his digits pressed tightly against his wound. "Ya're comin' with us whether ya like it or not."

Before Rodimus could even think of protesting, the Polyhexian turned and stalked out of the room.

"Stand, soldier." Prowl's deep growl of a voice tore the former Prime from his thoughts as he narrowed his golden optics.

"Can't do that, sir." Rodimus shook his helm, wincing as the motion caused his processor to ache. "Not on my own. Drift crushed part of my stabilizing struts."

The former Lieutenant let out a deep vent and his mouthplates twitched minutely, almost as if he were attempting to restrain a snarl of disgust. "You continue to be a nuisance. Why is that not surprising?" The large Praxian moved closer to the crimson mech and held out a servo. "Now you can stand."

As Rodimus huffed and rose shakily to his pedes, Prowl rumbled loudly and tightened his grasp on the younger mech's servo, making him hiss in pain.

"I will have no back talk from you, soldier, am I clear?" The Praxian inclined his helm so he was almost nose-to-nose with the former Prime. Chilled air washed over the crimson mech as a form of emotion flashed in Prowl's optics, and his powerful engine droned deeply throughout the room.

Rodimus took a calming vent and nodded, boldly meeting his former superior's gaze.

"You have much explaining to do." Prowl turned and shifted the dead weight of the assassin in his servos into a more comfortable position. "I suggest you come with us before I am inclined to let Jazz have his way with you."

And with that, the Praxian was following his mate down the hall, a wave of cold expectancy trailing after him.

With another heavy, calming vent, Rodimus followed the former Lieutenant, shutting the berth-room door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! I had major writer's block with this. Let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> The song is based on multiple (disturbing) lullabies. Kråkevisa and Incili Bebek Ninnisi are the two it's based on, and trussed up a bit by my own imagination. R&R, pleaze. This may be a one-shot unless you all want more.


End file.
